Rise of the Archangel
by General Texas
Summary: Aaron Sharp isn't the average kid on the block. He enjoys flight, and hopes to one day join the Atlesian Air Force. Come Hell or High Water, he's going to get in the Air Force. Let's pray it doesn't come to that. Rated T for potential suggestive themes.
1. 001: Where it all Started

**Sorry for not doing anything on FF, and I will openly admit it was just procrastination (and a few new ideas because of RWBY Vol. 3). However, I'm back with something pretty cool. Ever since seeing Winter and Episode 9, as well as learning a little more about Atlas/Mantle, I've had a huge idea stuck in my head that I can't get out. It's been eternity since I've posted anything here, but I actually made progress on my eBook in my absence. I'll let you all know when I release it on Amazon.**

 **Quick disclaimament (don't ask what it means, because it's not a word; I picked up that habit and still refuse to drop it): I do not own RWBY and, while I intend to eventually work for RT, do not as of yet hold a position to do so. Besides, if I were, I wouldn't be writing fics like I am now.**

* * *

Rise of the Archangel: a RWBY fic

Episode 001: Where it all Started

The Four Maidens may have had some sort of holy power bestowed upon them by an old hermit with magical abilities, but they certainly didn't have the most ancient of powers. The first to become stronger than what their Auras and Semblances provided was Angelus, whose name is how we get our modern definition of what Angels are. He even looked the part of an angel; however, instead of the feathered wings of birds, from his back protruded multiple bright, glowing, tentacle-like apparati that split themselves into two wing-shaped formations. His powers became hereditary, passed down from generation to generation, on one condition: his full power would only pass on to one person per generation, and no more than one person could wield that power.

At least thirty generations passed before the present came to be. The world had forgotten about Angelus's blessing, and the tale of the Four Maidens became just that. Still, the blessings were upheld to this day. Of course, the world does not include everyone; there were people who still knew about those blessings, and those who wanted said blessings for themselves, and the legends hid themselves because of this reason. Since the powers of Angelus never showed unless the holder wished to use it, the bloodline slowly dissipated into nothingness…

* * *

(Mantle)

Aaron Sharp was a rare child, even among other children. He loved the idea of flight and midair dogfights. It was his ambition to join the Mantle military, and worked his hardest every day to earn his way there. The nation itself, to his limited knowledge, was collapsing on itself. Atlas, being the militaristic Huntsman academy that it was, got ready to take control should its home actually fall. This didn't faze Aaron, as he just wanted to fly some sort of combat-ready aircraft.

As the years passed, Mantle became too unstable to support itself and gave all governmental reign to Atlas. At the ripe young age of fourteen, Aaron was amazed that his home's kingdom should collapse like that, but stayed his course through the bullying and the criticism, even when his father left one day and never came back. With his younger brother Matthew over in unsettled territory near Vale, many years of work under his belt, and a mother starting to get drunk daily waiting for his fallen father to return home, the young man worked ten times harder than even he expected, only to lose it all at the end of the day.

One day, a year ago at this point, his mother's drunkenness overtook his household. She abused the now-fifteen Aaron daily now, taking any and all money dedicated to the essentials and spending it on liquors. This pushed the teen beyond his breaking point, and he left the house five weeks later. He didn't know what else Life had in store for him, but he didn't really care in the first place; he was going to follow his dreams and make his desires a reality, whether Life tried to stop him or not.

* * *

(1st person, Aaron Sharp: Present day)

It's been two years since Dad died. Before I left, I was working two part-time jobs, making around 3,000 lien per pay period, and only managed to keep 500 of that; now I only have one, earning about half as much, keeping all of it, and managing to get a full 8 hours rest daily, four hours more than I was getting a year ago.

Two weeks ago, I received an invitation to attend Atlas for the full four years from General Ironwood himself. I'm guessing I impressed him somehow. So I'm waiting outside one of the transportation pick-up spots, getting as much rest as I can, with what little stuff I have.

Finally, the transport arrived. While not the largest thing in the world, at least it flew. I boarded and stood next to a kid reading a comic book. I would've made small talk, but I didn't think there was much _to_ talk about. Thankfully, he spoke first.

"Have you heard the rumors yet," he asked. All I could do was look down like he'd lost his mind.

"Rumors," I repeated. He nodded, head still trapped in the comic.

"I take it that's a no." He closed the comic and put it in his bag. "Supposedly, one of the Schnee's are supposed to attend. Gonna be a fun year, if you ask me."

"Schnee? Who's that?" It was his turn to give me the look.

"You mean you don't know about the richest family on Remnant. Dude: SDC, on the news all the time, target of the White Fang most of the time, et cetera. Ring any bells?"

"Hmm… no, not really." The young man next to me just sighed.

"What's your deal, dude? How do you not know about the biggest thing since the Grimm? You know what, what's your name?"

"Aaron Mitchell Sharp, son of the late First Lieutenant James Adam Sharp and Amanda Greene Marigold." I swear, his eyes were about to pop out of his head when he realized just who the hell I was.

"You're his _son_ ," he nearly shouted. I held up a hand, silently telling him to calm down, and nodded.

"One and the same." He got so giddy right then and there, though his glee was cut short when four burly passengers walked up laughing like drunkards.

"Well, well, well," the one I assumed was the ring leader belched. "Look who we've got here. Someone forgot to pay up yesterday, didn't he?"

"Damn straight, Lenny," another addressed the now-identified Leonard. I thought I saw them laughing around town. My fists clenched for a fight, just in case things went downhill.

"Guys, come on," the comic-reading boy next to me griped as the four totally surrounded us. "Can't you pick on someone else?"

"Aww, but Mikey," Leonard blurted. "It's so easy, so fun, to pick on you. Besides, you forgot to pay up."

All Hell broke loose when two of Leonard's buddies grabbed Mike by the arms and attempted to do the same with me; they had a bit of an issue reaching me in the first place, seeing as how I was so strong and tall, standing 6' 4 at my tallest. All I had to do was literally shake the guy off me. I grabbed both of his buddies by the collars of their shirts and bashed them both together, letting both collapse to the floor of the ship. I felt an arm grab my shoulder, and instinct kicked in; I turned around and decked the guy in the jaw. I didn't know whether or not I broke his jaw, but he sure wasn't getting up any time soon. All that was left was Leo himself, and he clearly didn't want to share the same fate as his friends. I just watched as he scrambled for cover.

"That was epic," Mike mumbled after a few moments, clearly awestruck. I turned to face him and grinned.

"What'd I tell you," I responded. He just nodded and stood there.

"Hi, I'm Michael. Which planet do you come from?" I just rolled my eyes at this comment.

* * *

(Ten minutes later…)

The incident on the transport went relatively unnoticed. Apparently no one listens to Michael or Leonard anymore.

I stepped off the airship and took in everything. Atlas was massive, a huge school, though it looked more like a modernized castle to me. I smelled fruit and green grass. What I heard perfectly contradicted both, though…

A titanic roar filled my ears, causing me to duck on instinct. A smaller airship with blue streamers flew overhead, landing somewhere close by. The ramp-door extended and out walked a white-haired girl around my age wearing expensive-looking monochrome clothing. Servants toted around luggage behind her.

"Oh. My. God," Michael muttered. "Winter Schnee. Current heiress to the SDC. Oh my good Lord." All I could do was face-palm at his sudden spaghetti-knees.

"Good God, Mike," I growled. "Could you stop being all creepy like a fanboy? She's just a girl."

"Yeah, sure. She's just a girl. Only the richest girl on Remnant! C'mon, you can't be this big of a dolt, can you?"

"Frankly, I'm not stupid; I'm just more apathetic than everyone else, and therefore I don't care to learn everything, just what I need to know at the time."

"Oh, my God. I can't believe we're going to be staying here together."

"Yup. Just think about it, you'll be seeing my face for the next four years. Come to think of it, I'll be dealing with a rich brat for four years." An argument ensued, him defending Winter and I defending my opinion that she's just another royal snob and thorn in my side.

( **END** )

* * *

 **A/N: That was a headache and a half. There, I've introduced one helluva OC. This actually ties in with another RWBY fic I plan on doing.**

 **If you want to have an OC featured in this fic, review or shoot me a PM. Questions, spot an error, concerns? For God's sake, PM me.**

 **Tell me how I did, people. Otherwise, this is Texas, signing out. See you next chapter.**


	2. 002: First Impressions

**Hello everyone, I'm back again. I'm guessing that I'm not very popular right now, judging by how many views this story has. I guess I understand why: my other stories kinda sucked, and I had difficulties continuing the good ones. I will do my best on this one to both have it make sense and continue on through the end. Speaking of which, here's the next chapter. Do enjoy.**

 **I know I don't have to say this ALL the time, but I'd like to point out that I do not own RWBY.**

* * *

Rise of the Archangel

Episode 002: First Impressions

* * *

(Aaron Sharp 1st person, Atlas)

We finally made it to Atlas's auditorium, still arguing about who's right and wrong about Winter Schnee. I figured Michael had a crush on her, judging by the way he was defending her so viciously, though I'm not one to tease a good or potential friend. Leonard and his buddies finally woke up, apparently, because I saw them strutting around, laughing and belching and being rude like nothing happened.

"All I'm saying is that just because she's rich doesn't mean she's a total jackass," Mike argued.

"And I'm saying that my experience says otherwise," I returned. "I doubt you've even met her in person."

"Well, neither have you," he fired, "And you're saying things about her that you don't know -."

"I'm not saying things I don't know," I corrected him. "I'm just making assumptions based on what I've observed thus far."

"Which is nothing. You're making assumptions based on nothing."

"Correction: I have observed something. Her clothing, the fact that she has servants toting her luggage around for her, the way she strides. Need I go on?"

"Eh, you have a point," he agreed, after some consideration in silence. "But still, why do you hold a grudge against her?"

"I'm not holding a grudge either," I sighed. "I'm just not certain I can trust her just yet."

"Why not, might I ask? She's _the_ Winter Schnee; what's not to trust about her?"

"You yourself told me why: she's the richest girl in the kingdom, even on Remnant. Not just that, but she's the heiress to the biggest Dust company here. For all I know, she could be a total jackass, just like most politicians I've had the misfortune of meeting in person."

"And what proof do you have of that," I heard a feminine voice behind me.

"I said _could_ , not _is_ ," I corrected the lady behind me. "Besides, I haven't even heard of the name 'Schnee' until this morning."

"How could you not know about me," she demanded.

"That's just what I keep asking," Mike agreed. I shrugged.

"Just haven't," I responded simply, crossing my arms. "Dad never told me. Never got the chance to, either."

"Just who do you think you are," she demanded.

"Aaron Mitchell Sharp," I responded as I would to anyone else, "Son of the late First Lieutenant James Adam Sharp and Amanda Greene Marigold. And you are?" She scoffed at this.

"Winter Schnee," she labeled herself. "Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company."

"How could you not know that, dude," Mike asked, concern in his voice.

"Why so concerned," I asked him. Schnee just glared daggers at me.

"Why so serious," Leonard's voice went raspy as he asked me that. I rolled my eyes at his terrible impersonation. "You're so dang serious that you don't know about the Schnee's. Pretty dang serious, if you ask me."

"I'm not serious," I argued. "I'm just… apathetic. Don't really give a damn."

Leonard burst out laughing, stopping when Winter turned her glare on him and I leveled the barrel of my pistol at his forehead.

"Thank you," sarcasm dripped from my voice like a river.

I felt Winter's glare turn back on me. I turned to face the young woman, and my brain froze (though I didn't show it). Even though the monochrome dress was a little dull, everything else was mind-blowing. Now I could see that the blouse she was wearing underneath her jacket was blue. Not that I was staring; in fact, I kept a stoic expression as I maintained eye contact, analyzing her with my peripherals. Speaking of eyes, hers were an icy blue color that made my body feel cold. She's almost exactly the opposite of me.

"What," I asked. The glare continued until a masculine voice brought our attention to the stage.

"Good morning," said the man I recognized to be of great military importance. "I am General Ironwood, headmaster of Atlas. Some of you here will be training to join the military, while others wish to become Huntsmen and Huntresses. You may be thinking your training will be easy, a piece of cake if you will. Well, it's more dangerous than you think. Your chances of dying are one in a thousand as a soldier, one in a hundred as a Huntsman. Creatures of Grimm, terrorists, criminals, and many more threats are out there, waiting for the perfect chance to take your life. By training to become a soldier or Huntsman, you are resigning yourself to your chances of death on the battlefield.

"If you wish to leave," Ironwood continued, "I have arranged transports to take you back to the city. I won't hold it against you. However, if you feel you are ready to defend the world, you've come to the right place. Today you will receive your dorms and designations. If you don't like your roommate, get used to it; you'll have a lot of discomforts in whichever field you pursue. You are dismissed."

"Well," Mike muttered after he stepped off stage. "That was a lovely speech. He have any more dark things he wants to say?" I started walking to wherever it was that we'd get our rooms and 'designations'. "Hey, where're you going?"

"I wanted to come here, so I'm doing what I need to," I answered, then to myself, "Let's hope I get a good roommate."

* * *

(Five minutes later)

I'd just gotten to my dorm, a small room on the fourth floor. My military designation was AS-407 Delta, which was basically my initials, which dorm I occupied, and the building my dorm was in. As I was after the military, my current rank was Private, though I hoped it would change soon. Over all, I hoped my father would be proud of me.

My train of thought was interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door. My head perked up, turning my gaze to the closed door. The handle turned, and my brain rushed in hopeful and fearful thoughts. My hope was that my roommate would be a good one. The door opened, revealing who I'd be sharing the dorm with, and I hated my life instantly. Standing in the doorway was none other than Winter Schnee, the one person I hoped I wouldn't be stuck with outside of Leonard or one of his buddies.

"Don't get any funny ideas," she threatened. I just rolled my eyes.

"This is gonna be a long year," I sighed, standing up off of the bed I claimed and walked over to the desk.

After unholstering my twin pistols, Santos and Pecador, I set both armed weapons on the wooden surface and started disassembling them. Santos, whose name roughly translates to 'Saint', is made of white gold with ivory accents, an ivory handle, and a gold hammer and revolver. On the other hand, Pecador (translated to mean 'Sinner') has a dark titanium barrel and hammer, dark hickory wood accents and handle, and a steel revolver. Neither Santos nor Pecador can turn into another breed of weapon, though both revolvers are more than capable of firing any type of round, Dust or gunpowder.

"What are you doing," Schnee demanded. "That grease could stain the desk, even warp it beyond repair."

"And if I get it off before any damage can be done," I argued, still cleaning Santos. "Then we won't have any problems."

"That could still do some serious damage." After reassembling a now-shiny Santos and holstering it, I took the bandanna on my belt and wiped off the wooden desk where the revolver had been.

"You were saying," I said with a smile as I set to work on Pecador. She scoffed and rolled her eyes as she set to wiping down her own weapon, which appeared to be a katana-like saber. All in all, it took me about thirty seconds to dismantle, clean out, and reassemble Santos, forty-five for Pecador because it's so hard to see the grease on the dark metal. With both pistols back in their holsters and the desk wiped down, I walked over to the small backpack on my bed and pulled out an old cavalry sword still in its leather sheath.

The cavalry sword, originally my father's, was around three-and-a-half feet in length, with a gold guard and ivory-coated iron handle, each shining like it was only made yesterday. The blade itself, made of a white gold and titanium alloy, was amazingly still sharp and relatively new-looking, which was impressive in and of itself seeing as how the sword was over two-centuries old. With engravings along the hilt and flat side of the blade, each word filled with yellow Dust, each engraving saying something different, the weapon was a masterpiece that was impossible not to look at. As I unsheathed the glorious weapon, I remembered what my father called his old weapon: Justicia, meaning Justice.

Pulling the blade from its scabbard, I checked to see its condition. A thick layer of dust smudged the blade's former shine, grease coated the guard, and I noticed that I needed to reapply the glossy waterproof seal to the ivory handle. Taking care of the ancient weapon, I wiped off the dust and grease, polished the metal blade and guard, and reapplied the handle's sealant. Using the same rust-proof oils I use for my pistols and far more care, I made sure to keep the blade and guard in good condition. Pretty soon, meaning around ten minutes, Justicia looked brand-new, like it just rolled off the production line. Proud of my work, I wiped off the bicentennial leather sheath and attached it to my belt. Surprisingly enough, it matched well with my blue jeans and holsters. I slipped the sharp blade back where it belonged, making my belt that much more impressive.

I felt someone staring at me, and turned to see Winter's eyes glued to my elegant sabre. I grinned at her, feeling a sense of pride that the blade was clean again.

"You've got your own sword, don't you," I spoke, still smirking at her awestruck face. This returned her gaze to me, now a glare.

"Where did you get that," she demanded. Here it comes.

"From my father," was my answer. The glare grew far colder.

"You stole it, didn't you?" This made me a bit angry, to put it lightly. The air started to circulate, intense heat clashing with extreme cold.

"No, quite frankly I didn't; I inherited it. He got shot down during a mission, and I took it so no one could take it and Amanda couldn't sell it. I just haven't had the time to clean it 'til now."

"I'm sorry," she muttered nearly inaudibly after a few moments of silence. "I never heard about that. What happened?"

"It was about two years ago," I began, sitting back down on my bed. "Dad was a fighter pilot. Flew a new breed of fighter jet, an F-12 to be precise. One of the best, too; he taught me some basic military stuff he learned here, became my inspiration for wanting to fly. One day, he was called out on a routine exercise, followed by a patrol of Atlasian airspace. Turns out, that patrol ran straight into a few Red Bandits. Three fighters in his squadron including him, nine in the enemy fleet. None of the Red Bandits made it out alive, but neither did Dad. He was the first casualty in 20 years." I took a deep breath, then let it out before continuing. "Not a day goes by when I don't think about him."

"How did you take it?"

"Not well, but I did get the blunt end of Amanda's reaction." I clenched my fists. "She became a hardcore drunkard after his death. Every spare lien we had at the time went to her drinks. I got two part-time jobs, one as a trainer and the other as an automotive technician, worked 72 hours a week total and brought in about 3,000 lien every two weeks; I barely kept 500, what with Amanda beating me bloody and taking all she could find so she could have more drinks, even smoke sometimes. I only lasted through five weeks of that, but it felt like five years. I left afterwards, quit one part-time and slowed down my work hours; managed to bring in and keep fifteen hundred lien. Got better after that; Ironwood himself sent me an invitation to come here."

"I'm pretty sure you miss him," she mentioned as I began unpacking my meagre luggage. I nodded as I pulled out a picture of my father and a Bible and set them down on my nightstand carefully.

"Not a day goes by when I don't. All I can do is pray that God took care of him, do my best to make both proud of me, and wait for the day when I come home." I started hanging up t-shirts and red vests, folding blue jeans and crew socks, and stuffing my spare pair of boots under the bed. I rested a cross on my nightstand after dusting it off. Miraculously and embarrassingly, I found 62 lien at the bottom of the dusty brown backpack. All I could do was think how lucky I was that Schnee was so accepting of my story, despite how rude she was at the beginning.

* * *

 **END**

 **A/N: That was a headache to type up. Got caught up in YouTube and other stuff, but I've finally managed to get this one finished.**

 **Apologies for not describing Aaron, Mike, or Leonard. Speaking of which, I'll do that right now.**

 **Aaron: he wears blue jeans, white t-shirts, red vests, a midnight-blue leather jacket, and black steel-toe boots. He basically looks like a badass cowboy with sunglasses and a leather jacket instead of the hat and chaps. Santos and Pecador are white and black .45 Colt revolvers, respectively. You'll see his Semblance soon enough.**

 **Mike: wears a maroon hoodie, black jeans, sneakers, and a white undershirt. He's really interested in comics, so he carries those along with him in his hoodie. I see him as a cross between an AC assassin and Nightwing, so he's got bladed gauntlets that pop out taser batons when he activates his Aura. He's still working on his Semblance (and names for his gauntlets).**

 **Leonard: wears a black leather jacket, tattered red-stained blue jeans, mountain-climbing shoes, and a bandanna on his arms, no shirt under his jacket. Being part Wolf Faunus, he has sharp fangs and sharper claws. He does have Glock 18 pistols, Romulus and Remus, which he stuffs precariously in his jacket pockets. His Semblance is Predator: he can smell you a mile away and get to you in a minute, break through a concrete wall, and bite a tree in half.**

 **You already know what Ironwood and Winter look like, so I won't describe them. Don't know what they look like? Watch RWBY Vol. 3 on YouTube. Both appear on Ep. 3, if I remember correctly.**

 **Alright, guys. I've got some college stuff to attend to (including Dual Credit classes and applying before deadlines), so I may not update for a little while. Be sure to Review, those that I get really help out. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to update more often.** _ **Adios**_ **.**


	3. 003: Beginning of Classes

**I'm not even going to lie, I think I may have confused someone last chapter, what with Winter's reaction to Aaron's sob story. So let me clarify, I hold the opinion that Winter does, indeed, have a heart, no matter how cold it is, that just got colder over the years.**

 **No matter how much I wish I did, I don't work for RT and, therefore, don't own RWBY. Since I did model a character after DC's Nightwing, I don't own or work for DC Comics.**

* * *

Rise of the Archangel

Episode 003: Beginning of Classes

* * *

(Aaron Sharp, 1st person)

It was around 10:42 at night when we went to bed. I'd set up an area for Winter to change near the corner of her bed earlier that day. I was totally out as soon as my head hit the pillow; didn't mean I wouldn't have nightmares, though.

Somewhere around midnight, I awoke from the strangest dream: my mother came to Atlas, took me out, beat me bloody, and returned my life to the Hell it used to be. I was breathing extremely heavy, sweat dripping off my forehead, and sitting up in bed. My covers were strewn everywhere, pillow in front of my nightstand.

"What's going on," Winter mumbled, clearly annoyed. "Are you dying or something?"

"Just a nightmare," I semi-whimpered.

"Well, it was all in your head. Either way, your Aura lit up the whole room, probably woke up the entire floor."

"Ugh, sorry. Pretty bad nightmare, been getting to me for damn near a year."

"Just go back to bed," she groaned, audibly shifting her covers. I followed her orders, praying that I never have to see that nightmare come to life.

* * *

(Next morning)

I woke up bright and early to Winter closing the curtain to the makeshift changing room. The air was denser than it was last night, so I assumed that my roommate had just gotten out of the shower. Remembering today's schedule, I tossed my blanket to the side and started putting on some proper clothing.

"Aren't you going to shower yourself," Winter demanded, hearing me shuffling around. I looked down and examined my pajamas—a plain white t-shirt and a pair of athletic boxer-briefs—and decided there was nothing wrong with my normal under layers.

"I took one last night," I argued, pulling on a pair of blue jeans. I stopped when a strange thought hit me like a hammer. "Don't we have a school uniform?"

"You mean you didn't get one?" I swore like a sailor on savage seas.

"Didn't know there were any. What's the closest I can get for now?"

"Mostly white and light gray, formal military attire. Gray combat boots, too, if I remember correctly." Again I swore, realizing how multi-chromatic I am compared to that.

"Dad's old flight suit it is then," I supposed. I dug around in the numerous compartments to the old leather bag, searching for the hidden zipper where I always kept the old F-12 coveralls and jacket. The coveralls were black with silver highlights and red knee pads; the jacket matched this combo, with red shoulder and elbow pads and silver stripes connecting the four. Inside the jacket and coverall legs were small magnets, a safety function to regulate blood pressure mid-flight and prevent the wearer from blacking out. I'd taken off the First Lieutenant insignia, keeping it in a case with a photo of its owner and a Purple Heart medal that he'd won at the price of his life.

After dusting the outards and innards of the uniform, I slipped it on. Winter left her dressing area just as I was pulling on the jacket itself. If it weren't for her self-restraint and bloodline, I'm pretty sure her jaw would've dropped. She looked stunning as she did the first day, just a little more formal, though the mostly monochrome uniform was seriously grating my eyes. As stunning as she looked, I refused to show my emotions, knowing full and well that she'd either exploit them or grouch about it.

"Close enough," I questioned, zipping up the jacket. She nodded.

"I would still take care, though," she added. I nodded as I tucked the coveralls into my black combat boots. "After all, it's not like the rest of you follows the current code."

"What? How the Hell not?"

"Your face is unshaven, your hair is all over the place, and you look as though you got in a fistfight with an Ursa cub a week ago."

"Beowolf pup, actually." I could sense her surprise even as I strolled out of our dorm. "Ursa cubs are slower than their parents. Beowolf pups, on the other hand, are little devils on _drugs_. They may not have sharp claws or fangs, but boy are they fast little suckers. Dang thing wouldn't hold still; I couldn't even run without tripping on it."

"And you didn't bother to use your weapons."

"Damn thing stole 'em; that's the whole reason I wrestled with it."

She was stunned silent. I chuckled to myself.

"Don't believe me?"

"Let's just get to class already," she responded with her usual cranky attitude. "Military Strategies, 8:30. It's currently—."

"I know, I know," I grouched, completely annoyed with her know-it-all point of view. "I have a watch, y'know."

"Don't give me that—."

"Shut your trap already. You're popular, I'm experienced. Let's just keep it at that, okay? Good, thank you."

* * *

(9:45 AM)

Military Strategies was boring. The professor did nothing but tell us old stories about how he managed to take on an entire legion of Grimm on his own, leaving me rolling my eyes and resting the whole class. He let us out at around 9:40, which allowed me time to go to my next class: Hand-to-Hand Combat Training. Having trained in 3 different martial arts, I assumed this class was going to either really suck or be really easy. Sure enough, it was going to be rather fun; one of my old instructors was the professor for this class.

"Up an' at-'em, class," he shouted. "On your feet, move it. You want to be Huntsmen or soldiers, you gotta be ready at all times."

The class rose, albeit with some extreme grumbling.

"Good," the professor spoke, silencing the room with his loud voice. "I am Wallace Churchill, your instructor for this class; however, you may and will call me 'Sir'. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," I shouted crisply, voice echoing through the room. Churchill's eyes locked on my position.

"Mister Sharp," he said, surprised. "Never expected you to be here. There's your example, boys and girls. Follow his lead, and you'll probably survive this class. Now, let me repeat myself: AM I CLEAR?!"

The entire classroom burst forth with a caucus of noise. I could barely hear myself think. Acting on instinct and annoyance, I pulled out Pecador, the louder of my pistols, and fired off three rounds to the ceiling; the class went silent instantly.

"Thank you, Dagger. Now, let's see… who here thinks they can hold their own against one of my former students?" Of course, Winter's hand shot up. "WS-402 Delta. Schnee, Winter. Good to see, good to see. Anyone else?" No other hands rose. "Okay then. Schnee it is."

Wallace pulled out his Scroll and did something; two images popped up on the screen at the back of the room: mine and Winter's. Oh, joy.

* * *

(One minute later)

I had on my casual combat clothes, Justicia on my back and the twins holstered on my hips. Winter stood opposite me, ready with her single blade. I had no idea what her Semblance was, but stayed totally ready to teach her something about me.

"Schnee, Sharp," Churchill called out. "Are you ready?"

I rested my left and right hands on Santos and Justicia respectively; she held her sword in a fencing stance.

"BEGIN!" I saw a circle with several small points materialize behind Winter, disappearing and thrusting her forward. She appeared about ready to shank me a good one, but I was far faster; using Chrono-Jutsu, a martial art allowing me to slow down my perception of time and speed up my metabolism and muscular activity accordingly, I did just that. Just like a matador, I sidestepped her charge, drawing Justicia and swatting her mid-back with the flat of the blade. Time sped back up as she stumbled forward. I smiled, now recognizing her Semblance to be Glyphs.

"Excellent, Sharp," my old teacher congratulated my efforts. "Your father taught you well."

"Chrono-Jutsu," I grinned upon noticing Schnee's confusion. "Slows down time and speeds me up."

Another glyph summoned behind my opponent, which she jumped behind and shot off… ice shards? Even quick thinking and speed couldn't save me from them, but I did have something else. Using my own electric energy, as well as summoning that from the air around me, I poured negative energy down one side of Justicia's blade and positive down the other. Electricity arced down the blade as the Dust activated, making the cavalry sword glow a pale yellow.

"Electrokineseis," another comment from Wallace. "You have been learning, haven't you? I don't remember teaching you that."

"Actually," I responded as I began overcharging the Dust, "Its more activating Dust without Aura. Regardless, it's still a useful tactic."

At the peak of its electric charge, I used a hint of my own Aura as I slashed sideways at the ice shards and glyphs; the electric shockwave that followed was tremendous, awesome even. The ice evaporated, the glyphs dissipated like smoke, and Winter had barely any time to get out of the way. Unbeknownst to me, another glyph appeared behind me, this time with a giant arm coming out of it like a spirit. I had no time to react before I was beat into the floor in every sense of the term. I felt like I'd just gotten pummeled with a train, though I sensed that my Aura just got cut in half.

' _Okay then_ ,' I thought, ' _On to Plan B, in that case._ '

My body started glowing blue as my Semblance activated. My Aura went into overcharge mode as it was multiplied damn-near infinitely. Justicia, which was knocked out of my hands, zipped back to my right hand, sparking like it was touching seventy powerlines simultaneously and glowing as bright as the Sun itself. I could hear some 'Holy Shit's in the student body.

"You have Glyphs," I shouted over the arcing electricity. "My Semblance is Overcharge—allows me to recharge and amplify my Aura to impossible limits; hundreds of times more powerful than any Glyph you could ever summon."

"Wanna bet," she dared, but before either of us could do a damn thing we heard metal breaking, as well as a thundering roar. An Ursa Emperor, ten times bigger than an Ursa Major, had just broken out of its cage. And it was hungry for breakfast.

"On second thought," I trailed off, formulating a plan in my mind, "Can your Glyphs amplify Aura blasts?"

"I have no idea," she responded as the massive Grimm stomped into the classroom. "Though I suppose it's not too late to find out."

"DO IT," I shouted, aiming Justicia's blade at the beast. Several small Glyphs formed out of thin air around and in front of my blade, all leading up to the beast's head. Summoning all my Aura in and out of my Semblance, I compressed everything I had into Justicia and let it rip.

A white beam with hints of blue and yellow burst out of Justicia, amplified by Winter's Glyphs, and tore through the Ursa Emperor. The damned creature was vaporized on the spot.

I let out a huge breath, tuckered out, as did Winter. My Aura was totally drained outside of a small amount still in me. I looked up at our images on the screens behind us and noticed that both our Auras were in the red.

"Unprecedented," Churchill muttered. "Excellent teamwork, you two. Foolish as it was to take on a Creature of Grimm on your own, you did better than I did against one of those things. Give them a round of applause."

* * *

 **END**

 **A/N: Okay, I know I confused some people there; I'm still going over it myself. I think I may go back at a late date and change it, depending on how well it's received. Regardless, now you know what Aaron's Semblance is, as well as two of his martial arts. I won't try to hide the third one, it's basically just mixed martial arts. Chrono-Jutsu isn't a real martial art, though there are people out there with chronokineseis, the ability to slow down their perception of time and even time itself. As for electrokineseis and activating Dust with it, I see Dust as a plasma-like energy source that can be activated with either Aura or electricity. Regardless, Aaron's electrokineseis stems from a mental martial art that moves around hormones and atomic particles themselves to manipulate his environment (also one that doesn't exist, it's just a learned telekineseis of sorts).**

 **Fair warning: I may skip ahead a couple of years where Aaron, Mike, Leonard, and Winter are all older and in the Atlasian military (I don't know what it's called, so I'll just say that Winter is in their Navy with Mike, Aaron's in the Air Force, and Leonard's in the Army). I'm just saying this to give you a heads up, make for sure I don't confuse anyone.**

 **That's about all I've got for now. Peace out everyone, and I'll see you all in the next chapter (or a new story from the perspective of Aaron's brother).**


	4. 004: Dizzying Heights

**Well, sure enough, I'm skipping forward a year or so. All of this, at this time, will be taking place around Vol. 1. Guess I forgot to mention that all this insanity began around 3 years before Vol. 1, so this is basically 3 years in the future.**

 **I've already started up the mid-sequel for you guys. That one starts around Vol. 1, and I think it's a really good story. Go and give it an R &R.**

 **As I'll always say, I don't own RWBY or Nightwing.**

* * *

 _ **Rise of the Archangel**_

Episode 004: Dizzying Heights

* * *

(Aaron Sharp, 1st Person)

(Fort Berlin, Atlesian Air Force Base)

I've been getting up at around 04:30, much earlier than my training partners. Today, however, I couldn't sleep. Today was the day; I was finally going to fly.

To try and put myself to sleep, I went over all I had learned about the jets I and my squad mates would be flying: the F-18 Raptor; weaponry, supersonic missiles, 9 mm 6-barreled rotary gun, Dust flares, and an Afterburn system. Safety features: advanced radar, ejecting cockpit _with_ parachute, missile avoidance system, 16 mm steel-titanium alloy armor, bullet-proof cockpit. Other features: Mach 4 top speed, Dust-powered engine, and an on-board link-up to the commanding vessel and/or base. Not only all of that, but it was the newest model, the F-18E Specialized Combat Jet, one of the best things in air force history. Oh, how I wanted to fly one.

Just thinking about the supersonic jet kept me up all night. That didn't stop me from trying to go to sleep; I tried artificial sleep pills, alcohol, lying in bed, hypnosis, even working up a sweat. I just couldn't sleep. So I just waited for sunrise to come along, not even bothering to grab coffee.

Finally, at sunrise 7 hours later, I got dressed in the compression suit I've worn for the last three years. I pinned my Chief Master Sergeant insignia to my shoulders and the upper left side of my jacket. Outside of Winter Schnee, I'm currently at least four ranks ahead of all other students of my class. The reason I say outside of Winter is because she's currently a rank ahead of me, being a Command Chief Master Sergeant. Trying to outrank her is like trying to wrestle a rhinoceros: not impossible, but certainly beyond hard.

Finally, the rest of Alpha Squadron was up and ready for lift off, just past 08:00. I had them ready for our first flight in less than ten minutes. They weren't exactly eager to fly, but being subordinates they had no choice but to do as I said.

"Alpha Squadron, front and center," CCM Schnee ordered as she barged into our bunker at 08:15, perfectly on schedule as usual. Alpha-2 was the last to line up at attention. "Your first flight mission begins today. The mission: escort an air-to-ground invasion force to their destination, provide tactical support, and get out in fifteen minutes before we commence a bombing run. You have seven minutes to be in your jets. Any questions?"

"No, ma'am," came the united response.

"Good," she responded. "Now get out there. Good luck."

"Alright, Alpha," I shouted after Winter left. "You heard the woman; move it! We have F-18's to fly."

In seven minutes, all of Alpha was in their flight suits and ready for takeoff. I hopped into the cockpit of my F-18E SCJ fighter and primed the engines.

"Alpha Squadron, sound off," I ordered.

"Alpha-5, standing by."

"Alpha-4, standing by."

"Alpha-3, standing by."

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Alpha-2!"

"Oh! Alpha-2, standing by."

"Alpha-1, standing by."

"Alpha Leader to Command, we are in the green," I confirmed for Command.

Silence ensued for a few seconds, the roar of the jet engines overpowering everything else.

"Command to Alpha, mission is a go. Release the brakes now."

6 Dust engines howled at maximum as all of Alpha Squadron blasted out of the hangar, following a pack of 3 Bullheads at 150 mph to our destinations.

In ten minutes, we'd reached our destination. The left and right Bullheads veered as they approached their respective targets.

"Five, One, follow right," I ordered. "2, 4, take the left. Three, with me at center. Prepare for oncoming fire."

Three minutes passed without incident; the Bullheads dropped off their forces, only a few separate forces needed our assistance, and all was going well. Next thing I knew, all Hell had broken out of its cage.

"Uh, guys," came the concerned call from Alpha-2. "Why is my radar blipping with a bunch of red dots?"

' _Red dots_ ,' my mind went into overdrive. ' _Oh, shit. Bogies._ '

"How many," I demanded. It took a few moments for Alpha-2 to count.

"About three dozen red blips on my radar."

"Alpha, I've got three dozen bogies on-screen," Alpha-1 shouted, obviously panicked.

"F-12's, all 36 of 'em," Alpha-3 confirmed. A bloody scream pierced our ears as ground forces got sacked by the oncoming force.

"Alpha, distract the enemy," I shouted, locking target with a Red Bandit-owned F-12. "Keep their focus off the ground. Weapons free!"

The dogfight was total Hell; for every Bandit I shot down, there were two more on my own tail. Alpha-2 was on panic-mode, wasting ammo like a millionaire does money. At least two-dozen enemy fighters went down before things went downhill even further.

"I'M HIT," I heard the garbled cry of Alpha-1. One of the green lights on the console next to my radar went out.

"I can't shake him," Alpha-5 shouted, flying at a mere 150 mph like she was earlier.

"Go up to Mach 1," I recommended.

"I CAN'T," she screamed, totally scared now. "MY ACCELERATION SYSTEM'S OUT!"

"Hang in there, Alpha-5. Alpha-3, assistance to Alpha-5 now."

"En route," he spoke, accelerating to Mach 2 as he approached. I noted a missile on my tail, accelerating for the kill; I jerked the control stick to the left, causing me to go into a barrel roll and the missile to totally miss me. The missile didn't fly off into the sunset, either; the deadly projectile slammed into the cockpit of a Bandit-owned F-12.

"Oh, Jesus," Alpha-2 moaned, airsickness audible in his voice. "Yup, I'm totally sick now."

"You know where to throw it," Alpha-4 sighed, obviously annoyed with his twin. Alpha-5 made a confused sound a few moments later as Alpha-2 flew over the bogie on her tail; speaking of the tag-along, the fella seemed like his windshield was totally covered in something and flew like a drunken maniac.

"Oh my God," Alpha-3 shouted in disgust. My ears started ringing because of all the shouting. "Tell me you did not just do that!"

"I think he did," Alpha-4 chuckled as his twin brother just cackled evilly. Alpha-3 sounded like he was totally disgusted by the airsick pilot.

"Somebody got a little hung over last night," Alpha-1 joked, having ejected before his F-18 exploded. Alpha-2 gasped as if he'd been found out.

"You found me out," he shrieked, again deafening me.

"Alpha-1, it's great to hear from you again, but can you refrain from yelling into your radio," I whimpered, wincing at the pain in my ear as I chased down an enemy fighter attempting to gun down Alpha-5. "Alpha-5, snag One and set him on the ground. And let your foot off the break, there is _no_ accelerator joystick or lever. Four, provide defensive cover for Five."

"Air support, mission accomplished," Leonard spoke calmly into his radio, the usual cockiness in his voice as he did. "Five minutes remaining, bring in the Bulls. It's time to go home."

"Amen, Ground 1," Mike laughed, deafening me once more. I growled in pain as the agile hacker totally ignored my pained pleas from earlier. "Let's get outta here."

"I'll radio them in as soon as you _stop yelling into my freaking ears_ ," I shouted, hammering the trigger on my joystick and tearing through the weaker jet's wing like paper. "Ach. You know what, let's just finish off these fighters, then we can go home and drink a victory shot."

"AND get me a new jet," Alpha-1 added rather loudly. I inhaled sharply, getting ready for the oncoming rant.

" _What did I just say about shouting in the radios_ ," I snapped.

"I DON'T KNOW," Alpha-2 and Mike shouted simultaneously. I was about two seconds away from ripping the two of them new ones.

" _SHUT UP WITH THE SHOUTING ALREADY_ ," came my vicious reply. " _THAT'S AN ORDER_."

"I agree with the Chief Master Sergeant on this one," Leonard, aka Ground 1, joined. "Mike, you _know_ I can rip you a new one, so quit your damn yelling. Alpha-2, your leader's a pretty badass pilot; don't make him show your sorry ass how it's done."

"Yes sir," came two grumpy replies.

"Thank you, Leonard," I sighed. He just chuckled.

"Don't get used to it," he responded.

"I won't," another enemy aircraft exploded in smoke and orange fire. I heard Alpha-1 grunt as he leaped off of Alpha-5's wing and landed in one of the three Bullhead gunships. All of Alpha Squadron turned around and slowed to 150 mph, getting out of the battle zone. The enemy made like made like my fears and scattered, seeing as how their numbers were cut from about three dozen to three or so. The return trip, thusly, was rather uneventful outside of bragging and laughing over the radios.

* * *

(Back at Fort Berlin)

When I came in and landed, CCM Schnee ordered Leonard and I over to First Lieutenant Andre Ramirez's office. Judging by the tone of her voice, Leo and I both swallowed our leadership roles and prayed that she wouldn't be too hard on us, because she definitely sounded pissed off.

We were both in the First Lieutenant's office within one minute. Ramirez wasn't in the room, only CCM Schnee. She seemed both angry and sad, which was an interesting combination for a Schnee. I stood at attention, stiff as a wall of concrete; Leonard did the same, a little more relaxed as usual, but I could sense concern in his stance.

"You asked for us, ma'am," I asked for confirmation. She nodded, still seeming down on her luck.

"As leaders of your respective squadrons," she began, "And as the best in your respective fields, you both deserve to hear this: I've been reassigned to Fort Potomac outside the kingdoms."

Leonard's jaw totally dropped upon hearing this. Fort Potomac was one of the best military bases around the world, as well as home of the best of the best in all of Remnant. Very few soldiers got to see Fort Potomac, much less get reassigned there.

"Um, wow," Leonard stuttered. "That's, uh, that's great, ma'am. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Drill Sergeant. I wish you both the best of luck." A few moments of silence passed.

"I-is that all, ma'am," I asked.

"Yes, Chief," she responded, definite sadness in her voice. "You're both dismissed."

Leonard took the opportunity to leave the room, probably to collect his thoughts. I, however, stayed where I was.

"With all due respect," I addressed my colleague. "You seem a little… how do I put this?… you sound like you're down on your luck. Thus being said, might I know what's wrong?"

Winter sniffled, clearly fighting back tears. After a moment or two, she brushed a tear off her right eye and sat on the corner of Andre Ramirez's desk.

"I'd rather not speak of it," she finally responded. I crossed my arms.

"You know, it's probably a good thing that you're going off to Potomac; being here at Berlin, you're wasting your potential." She rested her head in her hands, clearly on the verge of total tears.

"Don't you understand," she almost snapped, trying to cover her sadness. "I don't _want_ to go to Potomac; it's like leaving home." I nodded, understanding everything now.

"So you don't want to leave your friends behind?" She nodded. "I see. Well, if it makes a difference, I'll miss you too. See you around." I turned around and started to walk out the door, stopped by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around my midsection.

"Thank you, Chief," she spoke through tears. "For everything." I just nodded.

"Glad to be there for you," I responded, feeling tears well up in my own eyes. " _Semper fidelis_ , Schnee."

 **END**

* * *

 **A/N: That last part was hard for me to write. One, I think I got Winter a little OOC. Then, I probably screwed up a bit of Military stuff, what with my inexperience with combat. I'll just admit, I totally bombed this chapter. I almost continued, but I do like my cliffhangers.**

 **Tell me what you guys think about this chapter. I know I've been posting rather quickly, but not so fast that you absolutely cannot review. Not that I'm griping, I actually write for the popularity; I just need input like all other writers.**

 **Also, the mid-sequel –** _ **Heroes Reborn**_ **– has been released onto FF. Not only that, but it's on the second chapter. Some of you may already know that, but I wanted to make for sure you all had that in your heads. Go and give it a read.**

 **Alright, my head kind of hurts, not writing super-fast characters, flying characters, snarky characters, and the like. I'm going to go and update some** _ **Heroes Reborn**_ **. Take care, I'll see you around.** _ **Adios**_ **.**


	5. 005: An Interesting Offer

_**Rise of the Archangel**_

Episode 005: An Interesting Offer

* * *

(Chief Master Sergeant Aaron Sharp, 1st person)

I was in no mood to speak with anyone. In fact, you could say I couldn't speak if I wanted to. I felt powerless as I lay on my bunk in the barracks, wondering how I was going to handle myself as the best at this base now. Nothing came to mind, not even trying for promotions. It felt as though my heart had been ripped out of my chest, aged ten thousand years, stepped on by an elephant, mauled by Grimm, and stuffed back inside of me in the wrong spot.

I had my hands behind my head, fatigues wrinkled and slightly stained from working on my jet. One knee was up while my other leg was flat against the bunk. All I could do was stare at the ceiling for those four hours until now. It was around 2 pm before I was called for, the messenger being none other than Leonard.

"Yo, Aaron," he called. I turned my head to glare at him, causing him to rethink his choice of words. "Err… Chief Master Sergeant Sharp. General Ironwood called you to his office. Some guys want to speak to you, I think." I barely gave it any consideration.

"Can't it be delayed," I asked. "For, like, _ever_?" Leonard raised an eyebrow.

"Need someone to talk to," he returned with another question. "What's the matter?"

"I just feel like I've been thrown into Hell itself," I responded. "Got any remedies for that?"

"I'm afraid not," he muttered. "And to answer your first question, no it can't. He said he wants you there ASAP." I groaned in defeat. "Don't have to like it; _do_ have to do it."

* * *

(Ironwood's office)

It took me about two minutes to get to Ironwood's office. Inside was Ironwood and another man in the funky-looking suit I knew to be fatigues. His were a very light blue-gray color with a number of medals, badges, and the like. The symbol pinned to his right shoulder was unfamiliar to me, being a rectangle of thirteen stripes alternating between white and red, a blue field filled with stars on the upper left corner of the symbol.

"You wanted to see me sir," I asked, forcing myself to salute despite the fact that I wanted to shoot something. The general nodded.

"We have an offer for you, Sharp," said the foreign man. "I've seen your skills in the skies so far, and they are far beyond impressive. In fact, your team seems to be above and beyond what we've expected."

"My father was in the Air Force," I mentioned. "It's no surprise that I'd be so skilled now." The man nodded.

"So I've noticed. But your father also worked at Fort Potomac."

"I knew that too."

"So he told you about the projects he's worked in, then," the foreign man questioned. I shook my head.

"He never mentioned any projects," I responded, refusing to drop the salute despite Ironwood's gestures for me to relax.

"Well, he was a great pilot, as well you know." I nodded. "Such a great pilot that he was given an offer much like your own, to enter the Seraphim Project." That last part confused me.

"So he accepted this offer to enter whatever this project was called," I clarified. He nodded. "Is that where Winter went?"

"Who," he asked.

"Commander Chief Master Sergeant Winter Schnee. WS-402 Delta. My commanding officer. She told me she was headed to Fort Potomac. Here you are, talking about this Project Seraphim thing. Is that where you sent her?"

"Sort of," he muttered. "Yes she was, but you two will be in different divisions, if that makes any sense." I nodded.

"What's the catch," I demanded. He shook his head.

"Outside of a few promotions since you're doing so well, I don't think so." I raised an eyebrow.

"A few promotions, eh? What do you mean?"

"Your other option is to be promoted to Captain," he muttered. Ironwood glared at the man, obviously hating this idea. "Or sit at a desk and sign paperwork for the rest of your life. Neither of which is too risky compared to Seraphim."

"What about my squad? I go nowhere without my squad."

"Man, you guys are all the same," the still-unnamed man complained. "You _and_ Alpha Squadron have all said something along those lines. _Yes_ , I've already spoken with all of Alpha Squadron; they agreed so long as the rest of them tag along. And I told every single one of 'em, I came for all of Alpha Squadron."

"Well then, I accept," I took his offer, "if nothing more than to keep the General from killing you for the Captain thing."

"Don't tempt me," said Ironwood in a threatening manner. "If that's all you need, 'Admiral', then I suggest you leave ASAP."

"Now, General," said the Admiral. "Why do you want me out as soon as possible?"

"Well, you yourself said you were on a tight schedule," returned the General. The Admiral blushed as he remembered what he apparently forgot.

"You're an Admiral," I muttered as the Admiral and I left the General's office. The man nodded.

"Admiral William Orville," William stated loud and proud. "Well, at least I'm the founder of the Seraphim Project." That made a whole lot more sense now; too prideful, if I do say so myself.

* * *

(Thirty minutes later)

Alpha Squadron, Black Ops Apache, and our general command and support teams all got on a Bullhead with our stuff just moments before it took off. Of course, 'Admiral' Orville was the latest on the Bullhead, with only seconds to spare before takeoff.

A few minutes into the ride, my Scroll rang. I pulled it out and checked for the caller ID. I was far too tired to see who it was, so I just answered the video call.

"Chief Master Sergeant Aaron Sharp," I answered the call. 'Way to answer, Numbskull,' I berated myself mentally.

"Hey, Aaron," responded a voice that sounded all too familiar. Matthew Sharp, my half-brother from Dad's side. I haven't seen him in several years, much less heard from him. "It's me, Matt."

I was far too tired to smile, but after kicking myself back into gear I gave him my warmest smile.

"Well, if it isn't my annoying baby brother," I joked. "How're things going for you?"

"Surprisingly well," came the response. "I made it to Beacon with a handful of Outsiders. Haven't heard from the other guys in a while." That reminded me of the disturbing call a few years prior from my uncle, who'd taken Matt under his wing: he told me Matt got a microchip planted in his brain that controlled his actions when activated. I decided I would check and see if he'd gotten it out yet.

"Wow, that's amazing. You gotten that chip in the teapot fixed yet?" Matt shook his head.

"Nah, party's still going strong," he went with the metaphor I started. "What about you? I see you're on a Bullhead, so you've got to be going somewhere."

"Yeah," I chuckled, deciding I'd tell him the truth about the matters the way Dad would. "Classified stuff. Can't say a thing." I let out a yawn that made me understand what snakes felt when they opened wide. "Good God, I'm tired. Haven't slept since yesterday. First mission, damn near lost a fellow pilot, got the Hell confused out of me by some guys I can't talk about. Took a few tests, just got promoted to Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force, looking at a few more weeks or months for my next promotion, depending on what all goes on. That sort of thing." I yawned again, deciding that I would get some rest ASAP.

"You certainly had a full week," Matt said the obvious. "Well, it's been good seeing you again. I have to make another call, so I'll catch up with you later. Get some rest, Aaron." This tickled my funny bone.

"Heh, I'll keep wishing," I chuckled. "If you need anything, let me know. Love you, brother."

"Love you too, bro. _Adios_."

"See you 'round." The call ended right there. Ember James, more commonly known as Alpha-5, was looking at me, grinning ear to ear.

"I told you he was a good big brother," said Mitchell Adams, Alpha-2. "He even said 'I love you'."

"Yeah," said Ember with a dreamy look in her eyes. I facepalmed, shaking my head in my palm.

"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned. "I already told you, Mitch: I don't need help finding a date. Besides, aren't you and Ember going out?"

"Nah, but they used to," said Patrick Adams, Mitch's twin brother and alter-ego of Alpha-4. "Same with her and Alpha-3."

"I already told you: call me Oscar," complained Oscar Leeson, Alpha-3.

"Can we stop complaining," growled Devan Richards, Alpha-1.

"Well, look who's talking," laughed Mitchell. I inched away from the bothersome group, unintentionally bumping into Winter.

"I'm sorry, Commander," I apologized. "But these guys are a bit annoying, what with all their arguing."

"I'm glad you were able to join me," she mentioned after a few seconds of silence. I nodded in her direction.

"You know," I began. "It's kind of funny. Back when we started going to Atlas, you pretty much hated my guts, and nowadays we're best of friends."

"People do change," she responded. I smiled, reminiscing on our time in Atlas.

* * *

(Flashback, 3rd person)

Aaron, when he was a freshman at Atlas, was totally uninterested in any of the school's politics and other miscellaneous social upsets. Despite this, when Leonard decided to try and kidnap Winter, Aaron came to the rescue and pretty much pulled out a can of whoop-ass on the unsuspecting former bully. Both Winter and Aaron went to the ball alone that year, but she managed to thank him for saving her despite griping that she could've handled it on her own.

Their second year, Schnee managed to get thrown off of a Bullhead under heavy fire while on a trip to Haven. Aaron learned how to manifest his Aura as a working pair of wings, and used that newfound power to keep the young woman out of harm's way and brought her back to the Bullhead without so much as a scratch. Leonard had cleaned up his act and asked Winter to the dance, but was declined rather quickly. Winter and Aaron basically went together, but the pair didn't dance that year.

Junior year rolled by with a number of interesting events. Leonard ran into a farm girl on one mission, some girl named Cherrie Arc, and somehow fell in love. Turns out, this girl was going to Atlas as well, going for the medical field. With two Semblances – teleportation and healing – she was rather special. That year was the year Leonard's best was brought out; he and Cherrie started dating that same year, and went to the ball together. Aaron and Winter again went together, this time with one dance and much laughter.

Then came last year, their senior year. Aaron and Winter were more than acquainted by now, and were hanging out after school every day. She decided to take down her makeshift privacy wall around halfway through the year. That year, Aaron and his roommate danced through the night, then went to the roof of dorm building Delta and counted stars together until midnight, when they finally went to bed. Insanity broke out that night, labeling Aaron's future partner Oscar as a 'Peeping Tom' due to his sneaking through the window and taking a good long peek at Winter in her undergarments. Oscar still has a scar or three to this day, reminding him never to sneak in again as Aaron kicked his ass to Hell and back before Winter was able to get to him. Winter set up her privacy wall again as Aaron made sure to lock the door and window at nights, as well as to draw the curtains to prevent such an incident from reoccurring.

* * *

(Present day, 1st person)

"Those were the days," said I, still smiling.

"I still can't believe Oscar would do that," Winter growled.

"I regret nothing," said Oscar, still arguing with the others. "I'd do it again without a second thought."

"And I'd kick your ass again without so much as thinking at all," I warned, turning to face the group. Oscar wasn't among them. I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. "And I may have to anyways."

I swung an elbow to my left, striking gold. Sure enough, Oscar was trying to get a good close look at my former roommate's ribcage area. When I attacked, Oscar backed away with a bloody nose and a pair of crossed eyes.

"What was that for," he squealed. I shrugged, wiping his blood off of my elbow.

"You should've listened to me," I muttered as Alpha Squadron laughed their heads off. "Do that again, and I will boot you off a cliff and shout 'remember the Alamo'." More laughter erupted from the Bullhead.

"He did warn you," laughed Mike, attempting to clean the blood with a cloth.

"Let him clean up the mess," I told Mike, tossing a rag to Oscar. "After all, he _did_ try to pull that stunt again."

"He _did_ pull that stunt again," Mike argued.

"If that's the case, where's the nearest cliff?"

"I dunno, I thought you weren't being serious when you said that."

"I was," I answered with a dark tone to my voice, devilish grin planted on my face. Oscar swallowed as he stuffed tissues up his nostrils.

"You wouldn't," he whimpered.

"I would," I responded. "More than once if I have to. Do you really want to go there?"

Oscar shrieked and huddled behind Ember, shivering violently. I just rolled my eyes as I leaned back in my seat. Moments later, Ember shrieked as Oscar took advantage of his position behind her. Devan hammered Oscar in the collarbone, following up with a right hook to the jawbone. Schnee and I both groaned in agony, knowing full and well that this was going to be a long trip.

 **End**

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the hiatus. I was on vacation for a month, as well as in the middle of graduating high school.**

 **Outside of mentioning that I now have a YouTube video uploaded (sorry for the echoing voice, numerous clicking noises, and constant off-topic moments), I've got nothing. It's called 'Political/Random Glog #001', and in it I'm trying to play Sid Meier's Civilization V in the background, so go ahead and look it up. In the meantime, I'm going to keep trying to end my hiatus. Texas, out.**


End file.
